The Widow's Mite
by fiveby10eighty3
Summary: Events covered by Series 2 Christmas Special-Daisy's valley of (in)decision regarding William's pension; Mrs. Patmore taking action. William's father taking Daisy under his wing.
1. The Valley of Indecision

_August 1919_

_Downton, Yorkshire_

Today was Beryl Patmore's day off, and she had a list of tasks to do. First off was to take care of matters related to Daisy's widow's pension. The stubborn girl refused to do anything about it, still went on and on about "being dishonest." At the same time however, she felt sad for poor Daisy. Beryl still believed that had William lived, William and Daisy would make a go of it. It was sad how such a tender-hearted lad had to die—and as for his widow—she seemed to have grown old overnight, even if appearances do deceive. Beryl momentarily shook her head to clear away sad thoughts; they only distracted one from accomplishing her tasks. She also decided that after going to the post office, she would take a bus to Easingwold to see her sister Kate, who was still cut up after the death of poor Archie.

At the post office, Beryl read the letter again. Yesterday, the War Office had written to Daisy, telling her that they had been informed that prior to his death, William Mason was wed to Daisy Robinson—and would his widow or her representative go to the nearest post office to apply for a pension claim? Daisy, she remembered, just read it, and afterwards, put the letter back into the envelope. Everybody who was there in the servants' hall thought Daisy was crazy not to take it, and the girl stormed off again.

Anna Bates shook her head. "Just give her time," she reminded Beryl.

"We've given her enough time, as it is, Anna." Beryl replied, and shook her head sadly.

"She's still devastated by his death, a year on?" Anna asked her. Beryl sighed. "I s'pose I could tell you everything now," she said.

"What do you mean?" Anna was curious. She wasn't given to gossip, but lately, she had trouble understanding the kitchen maid. Some days, Daisy was nice, other days she was cross as a wounded cat. But then again, that was a widow for you. And at such a young age, when she was supposed to be with young William at his father's farm, having his children, but instead, Daisy was a widow who refused to claim her fallen husband's pension. Poor Daisy, Anna thought.

"Y'see, when William visited Downton before he went to war, he had asked Daisy to marry him. Daisy was fond of William, but not enough to marry him. I told her that if she doesn't go along with it, we'd never see him again. So, she agreed to marry him—after the war. William was willing to wait then—I s'pose it sort of gave him something to keep his spirits up. But we all know what happened in the end, didn't we?"

Anna nodded, prompting the cook to go on. "But I do b'lieve Daisy loves him, she just didn't know it," Beryl Patmore continued. "For one thing, Daisy wouldn't be upset when William went missing with Mr. Crawley."

"And as you said the day after William died, that Daisy seemed to freeze up one day—the day he was injured." Anna reflected.

"Precisely," Beryl said. "These are signs."

"Daisy will come round, someday." Anna assured her.

"I hope she does. Otherwise, I'll shove the checks on to her."

* * *

><p>"Ma'am?" Jimmy Salter, the postmaster's son called Beryl Patmore back into the present. He recognised the rubicund, fiery-haired lady as Beryl Patmore, Lord Grantham's cook. Jimmy wondered why was she in the post office, waiting in line for those claiming their widow's pension. Probably she had a nephew who had left a widow, and the widow was unable to go herself.<p>

"I'm representing Mrs. William Mason," Beryl said, lifting her chin at the boy, who was stunned. He knew William Mason, the strapping farmer's son who lived near Malton. Mason worked for the Earl as the second footman, a remarkably nice fellow. Jimmy was astonished to learn that Willy Mason didn't live through the war. And he left a widow, too, and it was funny how he never heard of it. But then again, things like weddings hardly mattered in a time of war—or _did they?_

"William Mason's _dead_?" repeated Jimmy. He still found it hard to believe.

"Why would I be here if he were living?" Beryl Patmore retorted.

"Sorry ma'am, I just find it so hard to believe," Jimmy apologised. Beryl nodded sadly, acknowledging his apology. It still made her sad to think about William. Then again, all the servants felt the same about their fallen fellow-servant. "Here's the form, Mrs. P." Jimmy gave Beryl a form, which she filled up, using a new pencil from a cup, which contained other freshly sharpened pencils.

Beryl filled the form up, supplying information which she knew by heart. But the second to the last question was a facer. How _is_ she related to Daisy Mason? That's a question. She didn't legally adopt Daisy, so she couldn't stand in as Daisy's mother. _Ah, I've figured something out_, she thought. Beryl decided on _Guardian._ Finally, she gave the form to Jimmy Salter. Jimmy was lucky, Beryl thought. He came back alive, with a wife to boot. A French girl, Frances Salter, Jimmy's mother told Beryl once.

"Life after the war is sad ain't it?" asked Jimmy. "People who lived through it never came back the same way as they went." He himself felt lucky—no, grateful to be alive. He may have returned with a wooden foot, but he was still alive. And he found himself a lovely wife, Genevieve, who served as a volunteer cook during the war.

"Yes, it's sad, isn't it?" Beryl was in concurrence with young Salter, who was carefully examining the form, to see if Beryl had missed anything, which she hadn't.

"So Willy married Daisy Robinson," mused Jimmy. "I was in the same Sunday School class as they were. Daisy's a shy girl, but she's quite pretty, in a way. An' she's a nice girl, when you talk to her. Poor girl. Did they have children?" he asked Beryl. She shook her head. "I'm afraid it was more a deathbed wedding. The Dowager Countess was there too."

Jimmy blinked. Willy Mason must have been that well-loved by his former employer's family, to even have the Dowager Countess at his wedding. Old Lady Grantham was a hard nut to crack, people say, but Jimmy found it quite heartening to hear that a fallen comrade commandeered such respect, especially from his former employers. Little did Jimmy Salter know that that old Lady Grantham tried very hard to save William Mason from conscription, and failed. Violet Crawley felt that the only thing left for her to do was to engineer the former second footman's wedding to his sweetheart, the kitchen maid Daisy Robinson. And she succeeded. How, the servants never knew.

"So when do we hear from the government?" asked Beryl rather pertly.

"The pension won't come in two months after application, Mrs. P. But it'll be safe to say that Daisy's going to have money by Christmas." Jimmy assured Beryl.

* * *

><p><em>Just where was that letter?<em> Daisy Mason frantically thought. She had searched every part of the Servants' Hall, and even Mrs. Patmore's work table, where she kept things like receipts, letters and bills. _If only I had put the letter inside my apron pocket instead!_ Daisy sighed. It was really stupid of her to just leave the letter lying on the table at the servants' hall. Daisy went back to the Servants' Hall for another look, when Sarah O' Brien, Lady Grantham's lady's maid entered the hall.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked.

"Looking for a letter," Daisy said, as quickly as she could. She couldn't stand to hear Miss O' Brien asking her another slew of questions. "A letter? Who'd write to you?" Sarah asked, putting her sewing things on the table. A hook was loose on Lady Grantham's dress, and Sarah wanted to mend it as soon as possible.

"His Majesty's government. The War Office," Daisy replied.

"What about?" Sarah persisted.

"Nothing that would interest you," Daisy said shortly. She went back to the kitchen because she still had a lot of things to do; there were apples to be cored, eggs to beat, and raisins to seed. Then the parsley needed chopping, and she still had to go and run to the gardens to get some rosemary. Daisy had to do all these things if she didn't want Mrs. Patmore's dismayed shrieks ringing in her ears until she went to bed. But Daisy was able to accomplish all that with the help of the other kitchen maid, Janet. She was even able to stuff the chickens with rosemary, then rubbed butter and lemon juice and salt on the chicken skin, and do the same with the potatoes. Janet was in charge of the cabbage, and Daisy was waiting for her so she could vinegar and nutmeg in it, with a bit of salt and sugar. While waiting, Daisy beat the egg whites, the cream of tartar and sugar. And there was the custard to take care of. She took deep breaths, tried to forget about the missing letter and focused on the work ahead of her. Mrs. Patmore would be back in a few hours' time.

Janet had already laid out the table in the Servants' Hall for supper, so it was up to Daisy to see to their dinner. Irish stew and mashed potatoes, she thought, plus there's semolina for pudding. Daisy finally took out the soft meringue from the oven, and took out the custard. She felt that there was a sound of footsteps entering into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was Thomas Barrow.

"I know where the letter is," Thomas drawled.

"Oh?" Daisy looked up warily.

"It's with Mrs. Patmore." Again, that silky drawl that Daisy had come to detest over the past four years drifted into her ears.

"What would she do with it?" Daisy was suspicious. "She knows plain as day that I don't to do anything about William's pension."

"I wouldn't know," said Thomas. "Don't be so daft, Daisy. Take the money, your husband would want you to be taken care of."

That had given Daisy food for thought. But she still felt she couldn't take it. She didn't love William the way he loved her. It would be false. She couldn't do that. She was fond of William—he was her best friend, but when it came down to it, would she have married him under normal circumstances, had his children? She didn't bloody know. Then again, she knew her own views of love and affection were suspect, since she hadn't known love. Daisy knew Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes cared for her, but that was all. Little did Daisy know that Mrs. Patmore loved her like she was her own daughter.

_Oh, and William of course. Ah, love can be so bloody confusing._

* * *

><p>Daisy went back to the meringue and custard roll. She had set it on the long platter Thomas had set on the kitchen table, and she tucked it safely on the cold larder so it would stay cold until dinner time. The roll would be for the upstairs dinner. Daisy now placed the chickens and potatoes into the oven, and there was the gravy to make. There was the broth of course, and flour, and salt. Daisy was stirring the gravy in the saucepan when Mrs. Patmore arrived.<p>

"All ready for dinner, I see," Mrs. Patmore said in greeting.

"Yes Mrs. Patmore," Daisy said, in deep concentration over the gravy. She finally succeeded in getting it smooth. She removed the saucepan from the stove, and ladled the gravy into the gravy boat. "Janet's got the cabbage done, Mrs. Patmore. And the chicken and potatoes are in the oven. The dinner rolls are in the server. They'll keep warm."

"Good, then. Let me get changed in a bit, and I'll see to the chickens." Beryl Patmore said as she surveyed the two kitchen maids' work. Daisy, Beryl marvelled, did an amazing job of taking charge in her absence. A little more training and Daisy should be up for a promotion. As assistant cook, maybe—yes, that would be it. She should speak to Mrs. Hughes about it so she could tell her ladyship.

The dinner upstairs and in the servants' hall being over, Daisy finally got the nerve to ask Mrs. Patmore about the letter.

"I...left it in the servants' hall table. I...I shouldn't have. But I need to find it." Daisy stuttered.

"Well, well. Have you decided yet?" Mrs. Patmore demanded.

"N-not exactly. But...but I've been thinking of seeing Mr. Mason and ask if he thinks I should have it."

"Why shouldn't you? You're William's widow." Mrs. Patmore asked Daisy.

"I don't think it's right—you know—William." Daisy said.

"Of course you silly monkey. He would want you to have it. Wasn't that one of the reasons why he married you?"

"But—but..."

Beryl Patmore's patience seemed to have worn thin. "But what, Daisy? All right. I'll tell you. The letter's wi' me. I applied for the pension on your behalf since you're so stubborn and someone has to take action."

"You didn't!" Daisy was flabbergasted.

"Yes I have. About time, I must say." Beryl retorted.

"I need time to think about it!" Daisy wailed.

"Time! Time, you say!" Beryl thumped her fist loudly on the table that everybody in the servants' hall looked at both Daisy and Mrs. Patmore. "You haven't got all the time in the world, Daisy. You will either take the money, or let Lloyd George take it for his use. But the money's yours by right. William wanted you to be taken care of and that's that. If you've any respect for your husband's memory, that's what you're supposed to do."

Something stirred within Daisy, that Beryl Patmore got the reaction she didn't expect. "That's the problem with you lot! All of you think that I'm too young to make my own mind. Maybe I can't decide for the pension—but with other things. I—I'm not sixteen anymore! Go ahead, push me around some more!" Then Daisy burst into tears. Why was everyone telling her to do this and to do that? If she had any respect for her husband's memory, she wouldn't touch the pension. Other widows in her shoes would have taken it, and to hell with William's memory. But she couldn't. It was unfair to William.

Suddenly, Mrs. Hughes was on their side of the table. "May I know what's going on?" she asked in a calm, rather ominous voice.

"Daisy—" Beryl began.

"In my sitting room, Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. Some things are best discussed in private."


	2. Humble Pie

"So, what's this about?" asked Elsie Hughes. It seemed that in her career as housekeeper, the word _referee_ should be added to her job description. Daisy was red eyed and teary, Beryl red with fury. Elsie was sorely tempted to pour herself a glass of sherry. This was going to be stiff and difficult. Thankfully, she took the pot of tea with her. There was a cup, and Elsie poured herself a cup, and it was admitted that she took the tea with a rather unladylike slug.

"All right, Mrs. Patmore. Tell us." Elsie said.

"The War Office had written to Daisy telling her she was entitled to a widow's pension. But she doesn't want to take it." Beryl said in a huff.

"Why not, Daisy?" asked Elsie.

"I—I can't explain...but it wouldn't be fair on William."

"How so?" Elsie asked Daisy.

"I can't be false to a dead man," sniffed Daisy, the tears coming back.

"Oh, I'm sure William wouldn't want you to be alone forever. Has some other lad's eye caught yours?"

"No. No Mrs. Hughes. But—but...Wi—William and I married under different circumstances." Daisy blurted out. Elsie Hughes' eyes nearly went out of their sockets.

"Good heavens girl! Has he..." Elsie exclaimed and clamped her hand over her mouth. Daisy shook her head. "No! He hasn't...he hasn't done anything. But it's different."

"What is it about, then?" Elsie persevered.

"I—I am terribly fond of him, but I didn't love him."

Elsie felt that a blacksmith's anvil had fallen over her head.

"Well—well, not in the way he loves me." Daisy said, in a near whisper. _Ah,_ Elsie thought. _The crux of the matter._ "So, in essence, you refused to apply for the pension because you felt it was dishonest?" Elsie patiently prodded Daisy, who nodded. "Yes—I wasn't too sure if I should, and part of me says I can, but I thought that it wouldn't be fair on William."

"Since Daisy was dithering, I applied for the pension on her behalf. And this miss here didn't like it at all." Beryl huffed again.

"I need time to think about it," Daisy said, in a hiccup.

Elsie, however, was gentler. In a strange way, she understood the girl, and her heart went out to the young widow. _The war has made widows and orphans of many,_ she thought. _And Daisy is one of them._ Daisy wasn't technically young, she turned twenty-one on January. But to Elsie, Daisy seemed young. She looked young too. Any casual observer might take the girl for seventeen, since Daisy was small and delicately pretty. She wouldn't be surprised if another lad would pay court to her. Elsie sighed. William was like a son to her—such a dear, tender-hearted lad. He loved Daisy so much, that he wanted to provide for her, even after his death. She looked at Daisy again. The girl looked a little _older_ than she did last year. Probably the deathbed wedding forced her to grow up.

"Well, Daisy, time isn't what His Majesty's government could give. I'm certain they would have to meet a certain deadline to make sure those who would benefit would receive the money in time."

Daisy gulped. Now she saw she was being a bit unreasonable. She would have to eat humble pie later on. "I see," she whispered.

"And Mrs. Patmore, thank you for acting on Daisy's behalf. One day she'll thank you for it," Elsie nodded at Beryl approvingly. "But certainly not this evening," Beryl sniffed rather indignantly. All her efforts and she would get this from Daisy!

"I suppose Daisy should apologise to Mrs. Patmore, there's a good girl."

Daisy sighed. Both women were right, as always. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore," Daisy apologised meekly. "And...and thank you." To her surprise, the cook had tears in her eyes. "I suppose I was a bit hasty," she admitted. "But Mrs. Hughes and I, we want to know that you are taken care of. William asked us both to promise that."

"He did?" Daisy was surprised.

"Yes," Elsie chuckled. She thought that after a year, she could laugh about it now. "What's important, Daisy, is that he loved you so much. He said that he fell in love with you the day he walked on in your fourteenth birthday."

Daisy stared helplessly. Elsie continued. "And a few days before he died, William told me how he loved you. The day he went for the interview—that was your fourteenth birthday party, wasn't it?" Daisy nodded. "He told me that seeing you for the first time was like having a brick thrown at his head, and it clearly knocked him over." Elsie smiled at Daisy. "My dear child. There are many different ways of love. Maybe you do love him, but you just didn't know it." Daisy couldn't say anything. "Give yourself time to think about it."

"What about the pension?" Beryl was instantly practical.

"Well, it doesn't have to be in your hands all the time, Daisy," Elsie reflected. "Well, you could have an account at the post office. The checks could be in deposit, and you can get money when you need it," she concluded.

But Daisy was still a bit unwilling to digest this. "Let's...let's talk about this when the pension comes." Elsie nodded in agreement. "Agreed. But you'll think about it, won't you, Daisy?"

Daisy nodded, and exited Elsie's sitting room.

"Well, at least she's going to," Beryl said rather ominously, after Daisy was out of earshot, and closed the door of the sitting room.

"Now, now, Beryl." Elsie giggled.


	3. A Will, A Way, and A Resolution

_A few days after New Year's Day_

_1920_

The world downstairs had a tense atmosphere, making everyone jumpy and rather anxious. Word was around that His Lordship's valet Mr. Bates was to hang. Daisy was sorry for Anna—and who wouldn't be? Anna was like an older sister to her, and after Gwen left, it was more pronounced. But Daisy had more pressing things in mind—such as William's pension. She had received it a few weeks before Christmas. Clearly Mrs. Hughes thought that there was nothing absolutely wrong with Daisy taking it—Daisy had every right to a claim. Her father-in-law thought so too, when she asked him what he thought about it the day he visited her. _Again_.

"William would want you to have it," Abner Mason declared, his voice a bit gruff with emotion. His heart broke for the lass William married. A year on after the boy died, and the poor lass still in pieces. Then again, who would remain whole once you've lost someone who meant the world to you? He felt that way when Constantia died. He bade Daisy goodbye, but not without extracting a promise from her (again) to visit him at the farm. Abner knew his daughter-in-law was a year over twenty, but with her diminutive stature and clear, delicate features, she looked about four years younger—a mere slip of a girl. How awful for one to grow up that way.

"You'll always be welcome at the farm," Abner reiterated. "It'll be also your home now." Daisy gave a non-committal nod to her father-in-law, handing him his coat. Truth to tell, she was slightly jarred. It was the second time he visited her. She wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Patmore had written him. _She must have, otherwise, he wouldn't have come._ Daisy thought. She had a ticking off from Mrs. Patmore yesterday—what right had she, Daisy Mason, to complain about her lot when Mr. Bates was sitting in a lonely cell, waiting to face his maker? She sighed. Again, her direct superior was right. And Daisy had to hand it to her father-in-law. She tried to hide a grin. Now she knew where William's persistence came from. Maybe she would give it a go. She might visit her father-in-law one of these days.

Daisy also thought that it was also strange that it took the most unexpected of persons to help her realise that she did love William, after all. Imagine, the Dowager Countess, pointing it out to her, the day she got her ticking off from Mrs. Patmore—well, yesterday. Daisy was mending the fire, and the warmth of the room made her forget where she was for a while. The family weren't due to be in the room for while.

Daisy thought of William. William was a good, kind person—a sweet one really, when you think of it—the best friend a girl could ever have. She was really fond, terribly fond of him. But would she have married him under normal circumstances? But then again, most people marry people they were fond of. Posh people like her employers normally didn't. But then, Lord and Lady Grantham were crazy about each other, and one didn't need to wear spectacles to see that.

She once heard from Gertie that it was better to pick someone who loves you over the person you love, but won't love you.

_I married him. But he died. And I miss him. So very much, and it still hurts._

That suddenly reminded Daisy of the pension. Mr. Mason said it was perfectly all right for her to have it, it was hers by right, as William's widow. But she didn't want to think of anything as sordid as the pension. Daisy knew that she would have given anything, her widow's dole included, to have her best friend back. All of a sudden, with a pain so sharp that it stabbed through Daisy's heart, she burst into tears. She was still sobbing her heart out when the Dowager Countess entered the library.

"Oh! What on earth's the matter?"

"I—I'm sorry my lady. I—I better go."

"No you're not. There's something troubling you, and you better tell me. You're Daisy, aren't you? William's widow?" Daisy nodded. There was no point in denying it, and anyway, the ring she wore on her finger was enough testament.

"You must miss him terribly, don't you?" _Her Ladyship couldn't have been more direct,_ Daisy thought. "Yes I do, my lady," Daisy replied. "Us downstairs..."

Violet Crawley nodded sadly. "So what's the matter now?" she asked.

"His Majesty's government is giving pension to the war widows. I—I don't want to take it. It'll be false to his memory. False to him."

Violet was, for once, baffled. Oh, the young people of today! Always talking in riddles! "But you can't have been false to him," she probed Daisy further. "You were his wife for only half an hour."

"It's difficult to explain, my lady."

"Well, try."

"I led him on when he was wounded," Daisy blurted. "I let him think that I loved him."

"Why?" asked the Dowager Countess.

Daisy ploughed on. "I thought it'd cheer him up, give him something to live for."

"And you did all this, when you didn't even like him?"

The thought of anyone disliking William perturbed Daisy, so she continued, "No, I did like him, very, very much. Everyone liked our William." At this, Violet Crawley's eyes lit up for a second, as if an idea had burst into her. "Ah so you married him to keep his spirits up at the end?"

"I supposed I did, yes." Daisy was surprised at that her ladyship said next. "_Well forgive me, but that doesn't sound unloving. To me, that sounds as if you loved him a great deal."_

Daisy thought that she would visit her father-in-law. It was just a brainwave, but it was something she decided to act upon. When, she wondered. Tomorrow was her day off. She could go, Mr. Mason had given her directions.

* * *

><p>Beryl Patmore took Daisy's smile as a sign that she was getting used to the idea of having another family. Daisy was a bit of a ninny sometimes, but there were times that Beryl felt that she couldn't blame her kitchen maid. Before Daisy came to Downton, she was a neglected child, left on the doorstep of the Abbey's kitchen, in a blisteringly cold, rainy autumn night. Daisy was seven, then. She hadn't much experience of affection. For her, love was tit for tat—you get what you give. But that wasn't love was supposed to be. Whereas William had plenty of love and affection—supplied by loving parents, and so, it was natural for him to give it, without expecting anything in return. Beryl sighed. <em>If only he had made it. If only he had lived.<em> She sighed again. "If only" had little use in the world. At least, Daisy's got a father-in-law, and a pension.

And speaking of _pensions..._

Daisy tapped tentatively on her shoulder.

"I'd—I'd like to talk to you. And Mrs. Hughes."

"Is this about the pension?"

Daisy nodded. "Yes," she replied. "I'd like to ask her advice. And yours." _Ah, the boot's in the other foot now, _Beryl thought.

"Let's go and see her, then." On the way to the housekeeper's sitting room, Beryl Patmore took a plate of scones and a pot of tea with her.

Elsie Hughes was more than happy to help Beryl and her sweet but rather complicated kitchen maid. She wondered who else, apart from the perpetually sour Sarah O' Brien had ever called Daisy Mason simple-minded, because the girl was far from it. The girl seemed to have consumed an enormous chunk of time in her life over-thinking things—but Daisy had a point sometimes. Naive, yes. Simple minded, no. Now, Daisy decided to keep her widow's dole. Elsie took it as a good sign; Daisy had finally acknowledged that she would, in a way, remain to respect her husband's memory by taking the pension.

"I advise you to open a post office account. They're pretty handy, and Mrs. Salter will only be too happy to assist you. When is your next day off?" Elsie asked Daisy. "In two weeks," Daisy replied promptly.

"What made you decide to take William's pension?" Beryl Patmore wanted to know.

"Hush, that doesn't matter anymore, Beryl," Elsie Hughes said, shaking her head. She let Daisy go, and after she was out of earshot, Elsie continued. "She's wise to take it as soon as she can. Probably it would give her some nest egg. The girl isn't as soft as Miss O' Brien makes her out to be. I sometimes think that she thinks far too much."

"Far too much for her own good, and gets her noddle all worked up in the worst of ways," Beryl Patmore was in concurrence.

"All's well that ends well." Elsie agreed. Then she sighed. "But you know, I've always wondered what it would be like if William lived. Ever since the day he died."

"So do I, I've never stopped wondering."

"I hope that Daisy gets her chance at happiness," Elsie Hughes said, pouring her third cup of tea. Beryl Patmore, on the other hand, just finished her second scone.

"Likewise, Elsie. I never thought I'd say this, but she's become like a daughter to me."


	4. What The Fallen Had Left Behind

Daisy woke up early that morning, and bundled a few treats in a basket. The day before, she had asked Mrs. Hughes' permission to make a few things for her father-in-law.

_The day before_

_January 1920_

Elsie Hughes gave her permission, and didn't even seem to mask her delight that the young kitchen maid was forging a bond with poor, lonely Abner Mason. "You go ahead and make a few treats for your father-in-law. I daresay, he'd appreciate it, the poor man. I figure it's lonely for him now that William's gone." Daisy nodded. "I think I'd make it up to him," she said. So after the servants' dinner, she went and baked some scones for her father-in-law. Daisy remembered William telling her that his father liked his scones with some nuts and blackcurrants in it. That one conversation they had about food brought a smile to her lips.

"_And my mum, she makes the best mince pies ever. Well, along with Mrs. Patmore's, of course," William said. "Then there's her scones. She puts blackcurrants and walnuts in it. Dad likes those scones."_

"_What else does your mum cook?"_

"_Lots of things, I'll bring you some mince pies on my next day off," William promised. _

William did, in fact, bring her these pies. They made a picnic of sorts out of it, and Daisy remembered that William glowed with happiness for days. Daisy sighed as she rolled the dough. She may have loved him after all, but she still felt bad about being unkind to him for a long time. _I should feel lucky,_ Daisy thought,_ that I have been loved by a man until the day he died but what good would it have been if he died so young?_ Shaking her head to clear it of sad thoughts, Daisy cut the dough into thick, round patties, and placed it on a baking sheet topped with paraffin paper to keep the scones from burning and sticking to the sheet. Her thoughts accompanied her all through the evening as she washed the dishes and other things while waiting for the scones to bake.

_I would make the best of things,_ Daisy promised her late husband, looking up at the ceiling. She was sure William was watching over her, like he always did. Before the war, William made sure that he was there if Thomas teased or bullied her—which he always did. She did her best to avoid Thomas now, since the day he made an unkind remark about the death of William's mother. _I wonder what my mother-in-law would have been if she had lived,_ Daisy thought.

Daisy's eyes fell on the clock. It was already time for her to take out the scones. Outside in the kitchen, she could hear people in the servants' hall talking and laughing. The rest of the servants were very much taken with a newfangled toy—a board with a pointed knob of sorts that could point on letters. Thomas and Miss O'Brien said you could talk to the spirits if the knob points to the first letter of the first name of the person you wanted to "talk" to. Daisy wondered if she could "talk" to William that way, but she remembered that Mrs. Hughes disapproved of the new toy.

Having finished taking out the scones from the oven, Daisy proceeded to lay the scones on the rack on the kitchen table, and covered them with cheesecloth, to protect them. She took one and bit in it to taste—and it was very delicious. Daisy closed her eyes and murmured a prayer for her late husband and mother-in-law. She decided to rest for a while, and put away the other things on the sink for her to wash later on. Mrs. Patmore would understand.

Daisy noticed that some of the servants were still in the servants' hall, and they were still absorbed by the _planchette—_the newfangled toy. At that time, Lily, one of the housemaids, was able to "communicate" with her beau who died in the Somme more than three years ago. Miss O' Brien just finished "talking" to her favourite dead brother, who was killed at the battle of Mons, at the start of the war. Presently, Mrs. Patmore bustled in from her work table, having finished the very tedious task of meal planning. "Still at it?" she asked Thomas and Miss O' Brien rather pertly.

"The secrets of the universe are boundless," was Thomas' equally pert reply.

Stealing a sideways glance at Daisy (who sensed that her direct superior was up to something and glanced at the cook briefly), Beryl Patmore said to Miss O' Brien, tapping her on the shoulder, "Are they indeed? All right, shove over." The lady's maid, puzzled, indeed moved over, letting the fiery-haired cook sit on the chair she vacated, but not before quipping, "You've changed your tune."

Breezily, Beryl replied, "Have I?"

Since Lily departed for the servants' quarters, Miss O' Brien took the now empty chair next to Miss Shore, Lady Rosamund Painswick's lady's maid.

"Now, let's get going. Who's out there? Here we go." Beryl moved the little pointed knob of the _planchette. _

"W?" Mrs. Patmore mused, while Daisy hovered behind the cook. Her mouth formed a little "O", before she breathily murmured, "William? Is it really you, William?" Mrs. Patmore, feeling more confident with her ruse, moved the knob to "Y", meaning "Yes." Thomas, unable to make neither head nor tail of what the cook was on about, frowned with puzzlement, but said nothing.

"Oh my Lord. Oh my God, William, is it you? What do you want?" Daisy quaked. _Is this happening right now? Is William talking to me right now?_

Mrs. Patmore ignored Daisy and kept on moving the piece. "Go...to...farm. Make...Dad...happy." Beryl finished. Thomas, while moving the piece with her, finally put two and two together and decided to go along. Miss O' Brien seemed to have caught on. "Go to the farm, make Dad happy," Beryl repeated to Daisy. "You can't say fairer than that." Thomas was trying to keep his face straight, as he knew by now that Mrs. Patmore was pulling the kitchen maid's leg, and Daisy was buying the whole thing.

"Is it usually so specific?" Miss Shore asked in wonder.

"Not usually, no." Sarah O' Brien knew a ruse when there was one, and knew that the cook had orchestrated it for Daisy's own good.

"Ooh," Beryl sighed in triumph, rising from the chair. "This stuff is thirsty work." Then she waddled back into the kitchen. Daisy followed suit, and went back to the kitchen to wash the other things she used in baking the scones. After washing, Daisy placed the scones in a thick blue checked cloth, and later on in the basket, to be laid away later in the pantry where it would keep until the next day. Finished with her personal task, Daisy finally performed her routine task during the night, putting the small screen by the oven. Untying her apron, she hung it by the screen.

"Do you think _that _was William?" Daisy mused wonderingly at Mrs. Patmore, as they were both winding down for the night.

"Who else could it have been? Who else would've known you've been asked to the farm?"

"That's true," Daisy reflected.

"So, will you go?" Beryl persisted.

"I feel I should, don't you?"

"Oh, I think so, hmmm." Beryl tried hard not to lace her words with obvious triumph. Daisy nodded, and walked out of the kitchen. Beryl waited until Daisy was out of earshot.

"If only to spare my fingers," she whispered, rather nervously, switching off the kitchen light.

* * *

><p>Daisy had had a pleasant drive on her way to Malton. The bus she rode was clean, and the people there seemed to be preoccupied, therefore allowing her to her own thoughts. She wondered what kind of house William lived in before the war, apart from Downton. Was it big? Comfortable? Warm?<p>

After the bus ride, Daisy had to walk past a large moor to get to William's home. It was ironic that it took his death for her to be able to see it. It was easy to see why her late husband often looked forward to his day off—the large brick farmhouse looked cosy and comfortable. Daisy couldn't remember a time when the home she had live in before her family had given her up looked like that. It was often cramped and cold; she remembered that the damp had caused her younger sisters Susan and Izzie to almost die. Daisy no longer knew what happened to them. Nobody told her—and it saddened her to think that her family didn't spare a moment to think about her anymore. Then again, nobody in her family knew how to write—save Daisy herself, thanks to Lord and Lady Grantham. They allowed her to go to school until she was twelve, old enough to be a kitchen maid.

_One day,_ Daisy promised herself, she would go to Ripon and visit the house she had once lived in. She wondered what she would do, what would she say to the family who had given her up. Work occupied her mind for the past fourteen years of her life at Downton, that she had no time to scribble a line, let alone a letter. And besides, what would she write to them? With a jolt, Daisy remembered that she would be turning twenty-two in two weeks. Time went by so fast. It seemed yesterday that she wore an armband for a husband she married on his deathbed, with great reluctance. Now, almost two years later, she was visiting her father-in-law with peace in her heart, knowing that she had loved William after all. She walked to the doorstep and knocked on the door, using the old knocker on the door.

Abner Mason was surprised and delighted to see his daughter-in-law standing on his doorstep. He had hoped for almost two years that this would happen, that Daisy would look upon him as a father. He remembered William telling him and Constantia that Daisy was given up by her parents because they couldn't afford to keep her. Abner couldn't imagine giving up a child in that way. He couldn't imagine giving up a child of his own, period.

"Daisy! Do come in. Hope you had a pleasant drive to the station," he said, beckoning her to enter the house, which she did. It was a cosy, inviting place, just as it was on the outside.

"It—it was nice, thank you. And here's a basket of treats for you. Scones—William told me once that you liked them with nuts and currants."

Abner beamed at Daisy. What a thoughtful girl. "Make yourself at home here," he said, ushering her into a chair by the fire.

Daisy noticed that her father-in-law was about to start breakfast when she came. She put the basket of scones on the table. Half a ball of butter sat on a scalloped pink saucer; a small platter held bacon. On a wooden board sat a loaf of bread, and an earthenware teapot stood next to it, as well as a brown mug. A canning jar of sugar stood at the middle of the table and next to it was a small jug of milk. The table was covered by a blue checked table cloth. Although the table was abundant, Daisy could imagine that Abner Mason eating his solitary breakfast in the room, day after lonely day. Tears prickled a little at the corners of her eyes. Daisy promised herself she would visit her father-in-law more often for William's sake. She could hit herself for being so selfish.

Abner Mason took the basket that Daisy had left, took a plate and another mug and a teaspoon for Daisy. He motioned for her to sit and make herself comfortable, so she did. His daughter-in-law tentatively tried to make conversation.

"You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. Not for me."

Abner looked at his daughter in law. "No?" he asked dryly. "Not when you're the nearest thing to a child of mine left on earth?"

Daisy looked at him now, her blue eyes clouded with worry and doubt. "But I don't deserve it. Not when I were only married to William for a few hours. You were there, you saw it."

Abner saw his daughter-in-law's eyes and took a deep breath. He could understand a little why Daisy was unsure of his welcome. He now remembered William telling him and Constantia that Daisy didn't have much love at home. Unlike their family. Where there was never a cross word, and there were hugs and affectionate words.

"You may not know this, Daisy, but William had three brothers and a sister."

The young girl's eyes were wide. "_What?_"

Abner ploughed on. "All dead...at birth, or not long after. I think that's one reason why William married you. So that I wouldn't be alone will all my bairns gone. Without you, I'd have no one to pray for. I think William knew that."

"Oh."

Daisy was astonished. She saw once more how good William was. She had always known that her late husband was the nicest person on earth, but this allowed her to see more of his kindness, even after his death. Her heart swelled. She couldn't explain it, but she felt something shift inside her. Could it be that old Lady Grantham was right, and that she, Daisy Robinson, now _Mason,_ loved William all along? Perhaps she was. After all, if she didn't love William, she wouldn't have replied to all his letters, wouldn't get so worked up when he was missing, wouldn't be so relieved when he turned up at Downton with Mr. Crawley, and for a brief moment, had a flash of pain the same day William was injured. And most of all, if she didn't love him, she would have packed him off to war, and wouldn't have agreed privately with her father-in-law (of course at that time, he wasn't then) when William was grousing about not being able to go and fight at the start of the war.

Daisy was so caught up in her thoughts that her father-in-law had to call her attention. Finally Mr. Mason spoke again.

"So, will you be my daughter? Let me take you into my heart, make you special? You'll have parents of your own, of course."

"I...I haven't got any parents. Not like that. I've never been special to anyone."

"Except William." Abner Mason supplied for his daughter-in-law.

Daisy smiled shyly, and agreed. Finally, _she could!_ "That's right. I were only ever special to William. I never thought of it like that before."

"Well, now you're special to me." Abner met Daisy's eye. Daisy's smile was surer now, less tentative. She nodded.

"You can call me Dad, if you like," he added.

"That would...that would be nice," Daisy replied. "I think...I would."

"I understand it will take time to get used to it," Abner said thoughtfully. "Have you decided to take William's pension?" Daisy nodded. She decided that it was out of the question telling him about the reason why she did so. "Mrs. Hughes told me that William would like it if...I did. And I think he would. Wouldn't he?"

Abner nodded in agreement. "Quite right. He would want you to be taken care of. And it would be nice to have some kind of nest egg."

* * *

><p>Daisy and her father-in-law had a lovely time getting to know each other. It made her more resolved to visit Abner Mason as often as she could. <em>It would be nice to have family,<em> Daisy thought. _And he's asked me to call him Dad. Who knows I just might._

When Daisy arrived at the back doorstep of the kitchen Downton, she sat down and thought about the things that happened for the past few days. Her deciding to take William's pension. The Dowager Countess assuring Daisy that she loved William all along. Mr. Mason asking her to be his daughter, instead of just being his daughter-in-law. She closed her eyes, and without warning, she was overwhelmed into tears. It was provident that Mrs. Patmore found her sitting on the bench. She had just come from Mr. Stillwell, the cheese man.

"Daisy, what on earth are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at Mr. Mason's still? And why are you crying?" Mrs. Patmore wasn't shrieking, Daisy realised. Instead, the fiery-haired cook sat down next to her and put around her, like a mother would for her daughter. "What's going on, love?" Beryl Patmore asked her kitchen maid.

"I've just been to Mr. Mason's farm. He was ever so nice, and—and he's asked me to be his daughter."

"So why did that make you cry?" asked Beryl.

"Not because I'm sad," Daisy explained. "I'm happy. I'm happy because I have a family. But...but...I wish William had lived. I think it would have made him happy too—us three at the farm. But at least Mr. Mason isn't lonely anymore—won't be. And-thank you for making me take the pension. I'm glad you made me. I think you know why. Also, I do think that you and old Lady Grantham were right."

"About what, love?"

"That I do love William after all. Not in the way that he would have wanted me to, but I do love him all the same. Old Lady Grantham made me think things over. She saw me crying while feeding the fire, and I had to explain to her why. She said that me marrying William—feeling the way that I do 'bout him and marrying him all the same—sounded a lot like love. A good deal of it. An' I've thought about it—and him—if I didn't love him, I wouldn't have replied to his letters when he was away fightin'. An' if I didn't love him, I wouldn't secretly wish that he'd give up about going to fight in th' war. But I'm proud of him for going anyway. Remember when I said that I was like walkin' over me grave? That day, I felt like something happened bad to William that day—and I felt terrible, like someone's cut one of me limbs an' it hurt terribly. And then later on, we found out that William was injured along wit' Mr. Crawley. I miss William very much, Mrs. Patmore. An' I thought that...I've got to make up for the two years that I didn't visit Mr. Mason after William died. When I went to the farm, it made me see that Mr. Mason was lonely. Someone—a neighbour cleans his house and takes care of his meals—but it's not the same when you have someone to really talk to. Like you and me. Or Anna and Gwen, when she used to be here."

It was Beryl's turn to weep a little, and so, she dug into her coat for a handkerchief. "Oh love. I'm glad you finally realised you love William."

Daisy nodded. "I'm glad too. Why are you out here?" she asked the older woman. "Oh," said Mrs. Patmore, "I've been to see Mr. Stillwell. About the cheeses if in case the Servant's Ball will come to a go."

"Is there already any word about Mr. Bates?" Daisy asked. She made a mental note to give Anna a hug later on.

"We're hoping to hear good news," Mrs. Patmore said, rather glumly, and Daisy didn't blame her. Save for Thomas and O' Brien, the Bateses were well-liked by the staff, and were sorry that Mr. Bates was in jail.

"Why don't we come in and find out?" Daisy asked.

Beryl Patmore smiled. "All right. That's my girl."


End file.
